


Applications of Aesthetic Villainy

by yellowrooster



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Author Obviously Doesn't Agree With The Views of Villainous Characters, Classism, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, I sat down to write a dark version of the series and I ended up with this, Multi, Tags May Change, darker and edgier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:40:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29184903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowrooster/pseuds/yellowrooster
Summary: The Ranger's Apprentice series... except lots of people have dumb motivations to do terrible things?
Relationships: Alyss Mainwaring & Will Treaty, Cassandra | Evanlyn & Will Treaty, Gilan & Will Treaty, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Horace Altman & George Carter & Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby & Alyss Mainwaring & Will Treaty, Horace Altman & Will Treaty, Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby & Will Treaty
Kudos: 5





	Applications of Aesthetic Villainy

Morgarath, the former Baron of Gorlan, looked out over his bleak, rainswept domain and cursed. Again and again and again. 

To any onlooker, it might have been rather obvious that this state wasn’t usual for him. (They, of course, would be wrong. He’s had fifteen years of experience.) 

Still, as a former Baron, people had always been careful with what they said around him - with a preference for subtle barbs and polite insults over the base, crude language of the commoners. That, alongside the fact that he had never been the type of man to frequent a common tavern or, really, to spend any time with peasants at all, meant that, at the ripe old age of an adult, Morgarath honestly did not know a single swear word. 

“Darn,” he said menacingly.

And he meant it. This was the gosh-darned  _ worst _ . 

All that was left to him was a wasteland of sharp things: rugged granite cliffs, uncomfortable boulders, pointy ice mountains, cut gorges, jagged narrow passes, and rock and gravel seemingly cursed to blister when they inevitably got stuck in your boot. As if that wasn’t enough, the landscape was infuriatingly boring to his well-tuned artistic eye; the whole place was grey and brown and boring. The skies were grey, the rocks were grey, even the gosh-darned water was grey. There was not even one happy little tree. 

Despite the high annual precipitation in the Mountains of Rain and Night, the “and Night” portion of the moniker was unfortunately well-deserved - Morgarath could nary find so much as a confused dandelion willing to grow in the region. 

Bitterly, Morgarath recalled the lush green and thick forests of Gorlan, his former fief. Ah, Gorlan… what a beautiful place. Over Morgarath’s extensive fifteen year term in the Mountains of Rain and Night, his daily Venn diagram comparison of the two cemented his understanding that the two shared but one similarity: The Mountains of Rain and Night and Gorlan both…

probably had fish in their rivers. 

Now, Morgarath had never  _ confirmed _ this, exactly. As the Baron of Gorlan, he hadn’t been much for fishing, himself, (it just hadn’t been one of his hobbies… all that waiting and skewering worms on hooks was pretty gross, plus plotting to take over the kingdom was way more fun to do in a dark, shadowy fortress while petting a fluffy cat-like creature), and in the Mountains of Rain and Night… well, any fish to be found here probably had strange horns or fangs and tremendously, shamefully un-fish-like qualities.

Morgarath wasn’t a fan. 

Briefly, he considered using his magic know-how to banish the clouds and make the wasteland into a tropical paradise… but the thought was fleeting. Revenge was much more promising. 

Speaking of revenge - Morgarath twisted his mouth into an appropriately evil smirk as his eyes fell upon a platoon of Wargal minions drilling in the castle yard below him. Morgarath found himself unable to keep the expression of polite villainy on his face for long - listening to the guttural, rhythmic chanting that accompanied all their movements was an offense to the ears. Worse, however, was  _ looking _ at them: they were stocky and misshapen, halfway human, but with a long, bear-like muzzle and fangs. 

They looked like commoners. 

_And smell like them, too,_ Morgarath thought morosely. 

Wargals had many commonalities with commoners, Morgarath quickly decided with minimal Venn diagram use (he didn’t like thinking of either Wargals or commoners very long.) Their nonsensical chants betraying primitive intellects, embarrassingly basic thought awareness and incredible susceptibility to domination by a superior, intelligent, and, not to mention,  _ breath-takingly beautiful _ noble sorcerers with evil plots. 

Of course, like commoners, Wargals also had no spoken language, bred separately from normal humans, and were incredibly gross. 

Morgarath, planning a revolt against the Kingdom of Araluen, had left Gorlan to chase the rumors that a savage, semi-intelligent tribe of the beasts still lived among the mountains, planning to use them to give him an edge in the coming war. 

Unfortunately, the rumors of Wargal intelligence were greatly exaggerated. 

It was so easy that Morgarath hardly took any pleasure in bending them to his will and forming the perfect army: incredibly ugly, incredibly stupid, and totally under his control. 

Morgarath had to admit that a Wargal army had not been his first choice. Now, looking at them, his lip curled as he fondly remembered Castle Gorlan’s glittery tournament knights in shimmering tournament armor, dressed in all colors of the rainbow, sparkly white smiling teeth revealed when they smiled at the crowds… and, of course, the somewhat less shiny silk-gowned ladies cheering them on from the sidelines. Mentally comparing them to these black-furred, misshapen beasts, he cursed again.

(“Gosh-darn it!” he tried. “Curses upon my annoying habit of making mental Venn diagrams!”)

Like commoners, Wargals had no fashion sense, either. 

Below him, the chanting faded to a lull. Frustrated, he realized that the Wargals, attuned to his thoughts, had mostly stopped what they were doing to gaze despondently into semi-reflective grey pools of water, and self-consciously pull their paws through their disgusting, thick hair in the hopes of improving their looks. Angrily, he directed them back to their drills and the loathsome chanting resumed.

Morgarath moved away from the unglazed window, so he wouldn’t have to look at them any longer. Fifteen years, he thought to himself again. Fifteen gosh-darned years since his rebellion against the newly crowned King Duncan, a youth in his twenties. He’d bided his time as King Duncan’s father’s sickness progressed, had even helped out a little on that aspect when it had taken too long, banking on the indecision in the face of the transition of power to help him transition the power a little farther… no, that’s too far to the left, bring it back over here, gosh-darn it! - and his massive army of Wargals to win him the throne. 

Duncan, young and inexperienced and incredibly unfashionable, could never have stood against him. The Kingdom was his for the taking! The throne was his for the asking!

_King Morgarath,_ he thought blissfully...

And yet, despite his cunning, his secrecy, and his gosh-darned mystical good looks, Morgarath’s plan had… failed. 

Lord Northolt, the former king’s supreme army commander, had rallied some of the younger barons into a loyal confederation, and young Duncan’s fashionability meter rose to alarming heights (apparently being the heir to the throne did a lot to make your clothing choices trendy with the masses). Still, despite those annoying developments, the throne was all but Morgarath’s when the armies met at Hackham Heath. And he would have gotten away with it too, if not for that meddling Ranger and his little horse, too! 

The grey-cloaked meddler had led a force of heavy cavalry across a secret ford upstream, using sly, cunning, and disgustingly unfortunate timing to appear, at the crucial moment of the battle, upon the rear of Morgarath’s army.

And Morgarath’s plot was lost, for the stupid gosh-darned Wargals were so gosh-darned afraid of horses (and, no, Morgarath is definitely not to blame for that, Morgarath had  _ certainly not _ been thrown off his pony as a child, and even if he  _ had _ , he’d definitely gotten over that childhood preoccupation, the psychic link had nothing to do with the Wargals’ sudden, previously unobserved unadulterated terror of the little beasts) broke, retreating almost as quickly as Morgarath himself back to the gosh-forsaken Mountains of Rain and Night. 

And here he had been exiled these fifteen years - waiting, plotting, conspiring, scheming, conniving, machinating, and many other verbs, too. 

And now, now, it was time for revenge. His spying (which was a simple side-hustle, not a full time job) was really starting to pay off - his spies told him the Kingdom had grown slack (which really wasn’t all that much information, but Morgarath had no intention to make espionage a full time job anyway, it was just a hobby). 

The point was, the time was ripe. Once again, he would lead his Wargals into an attack. But this time, he would have allies. This time, the uncertainty and confusion would be homemade, not store-bought. This time, none of those who conspired against him would be alive to come to King Duncan’s aid. This time, Morgarath had more than the stupid, ugly Wargals on his side. 

The Wargals were not the only ancient, terrifying creatures he had found in these pointy mountains. Morgarath had other allies, now, even more fearsome – the dreadful ugly beasts known as the Kalkara and fifteen years of horse-exposure therapy under his belt. 

Nothing could get in his way. 

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down to write a darker and edgier version of the series, and ended up writing absolute crack. But! May have dark moments later on?  
> Comments, constructive criticism, hate comments alike are totally welcome!  
> Beta welcome!  
> I also totally don't remember most of what happens in this series, so if I contradict canon and it bothers you, just let me know and I might fix it (I also might not fix it, if I think my version is more funny).  
> Suggestions very welcome.


End file.
